


From the Wreckage

by SugMak



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: French Jensen, Gen, Historical AU, Post WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugMak/pseuds/SugMak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after WWII, Jensen Ackles (a Frenchman who spent years as a forced laborer) and Jared Padalecki (ditto but Polish) are each making their war on foot across the war-torn chaos that is the European continent, each trying to make their way home. They meet along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Wreckage

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so I had this super amazing story all planned out but then I just stopped writing after this. Y'all, it would have been so damn good I can't even tell you. Or show you, because I never wrote it. Nor did I write the stuff that was supposed to take place before this scene. Anyway, here's what I managed to get down as a one shot. 
> 
> (If anyone's inspired and wants to try their hand at turning this into a whole story, just let me know!)

“Padalecki,” the boy repeated. “You don’t see many Poles in these parts. Or, you know, anywhere these days.”

Jared wasn’t sure whether to chuckle or punch the guy. “You should talk!” he said instead. “Frenchies this far east?”

Jensen just shrugged in response. 

“You Vichy?”

That got a reaction. Jensen spat furiously on the ground next to Jared. “Vichy? No I’m not a fucking traitor!”

Jared barely suppressed a smile at finally getting a reaction out of him. “They might say the same thing about you,” he said mildly, just to needle the man further. 

“Fucking collaborators.”

“Hey, I was just asking,” said Jared. 

Jensen huffed in response before finally making eye contact and volunteering information. Jared would have cheered if he thought he remembered how. “Free France. Most of my town was Free France. Except for one fucking traitor across the street.”

That explained a lot. “Fuck,” said Jared. 

“Oui,” Jensen said dryly. “Well put.”

Jared thought back to the weeks before he was taken as a laborer. The gaunt faces as his community was slowly starved out. The whole community with barely enough energy to function, let alone resist. He tried to imagine a whole town - a pocket of the world where you could do something to resist instead of just barely survive. Tried to imagine someone from within that community trying to take that away. “What happened?” he asked. 

“Don’t know,” said Jensen with forced nonchalance. “I was put on a train before I could see the retribution.” He paused for a moment, emotion once again getting the better of him. “My own fucking mother volunteered me for slave labor the second she had the chance. I was on a train headed to some farm before I knew what hit me.” His shoulders had visibly tensed and his voice hardened as he spoke. Realizing this, he took a moment to force his posture in its previous nonchalant slump, but the tension in his eyes remained. 

“Your own mother-?” Jared gasped

“Yes,” was the terse response. 

“Wha-” 

Jared was cut off when Jensen put his hand over his mouth. He put a finger to his lips in silent warning. “Hear that?” Jensen breathed. 

It was the rattle of a military car making its way toward them, driving on the grass next to the destroyed road was barely visible. 

“Merde!” Jensen hissed, swiftly dragging Jared off the road, just behind what remained of the line of trees. He dropped to a crouch, dragging Jared down with him, hand still gripped tight around his arm. 

They watched the car approach, its rattle and sputter reminding Jared vividly of the sick and dying in the abandoned hospital he spent a few days in before realizing that surrounding himself with illness might not be the best idea. 

“Fuck,” Jensen whispered to him. Jared squinted, making out red markings on the car with a hammer and sickle. “Should have known when I heard the piece of shit they were driving.” He spat again and Jared began to wonder if Jensen ever got thirsty from all that spitting.

“Soviets?” Jared whispered back, turning his attention back to the rattletrap car that was inexpertly navigating its way around the craters dotted along the way. “But that’s good! They’re allies! Maybe they have supplies! Maybe they can help!” Jared whispered back excitedly, moving to stand up and approach them. He was surprised to feel Jensen’s hand yanking him back down. He turned to meet his incredulous stare. 

“What are you, new?”

Jared blinked at him in confusion. “What?”

“You can’t just run out to the Red Army like they’re your long lost friends!” he whisper-shouted even though they were well out of hearing range for the officers in the car.

“I don’t understand,” said Jared slowly. “They’re here to liberate us.”

Jensen stared at him like he was insane. “You’re Polish, man! You should fucking know better! Where the hell have you been?”

“Hiding!” Jared hissed back. “Living in the forests! The Germans were trying to kill everything alive - plant, animal or person - on their way out of the cities. They set fire to every building and bombed their own factories on the way out.”

Jensen whistled low. “Shit. I heard about that. How long you been hiding in the forests?”

“Months," said Jared. “I don’t know, maybe a year. Cities were changing hands so many times I didn’t know where would be safe. The forest seemed like the best bet.”

They were silent as the sound of the sputtering car faded into the distance and the silence that followed was almost eerie until Jensen finally broke it. “So now you’re trying to, what, get back to Poland?”

Jared nodded. “Just outside Wroclaw.”

“I know it,” Jensen replied. He stood and brushed himself off, speaking distractedly. “Never been there myself, but I was sent to do some factory work in Poland in ‘41.”

They made their way back to the road, such as it was, in silence. Jensen was obviously chewing on some thought in his head but Jared was content to let him stew on it for a moment. 

“Hey, uh, maybe… maybe you should think about heading West with me for a while first.”

Jared whipped his head around to stare at Jensen in confusion. “What?”

Jensen shrugged. “I mean, just until things settle. It might be a good idea for you to stay farther West, you know? Until things…”

“Settle?” Jared finished for him, bewildered. 

“Yeah.”

Was the man nuts? He just spent the last few years shuttled around Europe, forced out of his home, no idea if any of his family were still alive. Why would he want to spend even more time away? For what purpose? He just wanted to go home.

His thoughts must have shown on his face because Jensen just sighed and turned to look intently in the direction the Soviets had gone. 

“Umm… no,” said Jared slowly, letting his confusion color his tone. “I’m definitely going back to Poland. I need to go home.”

Jensen ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said, sounding strangely defeated. Covering the moment with sudden forced cheer he clapped his hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Well it looks like we’ll be going in the same direction for at least a while. Which is good, because it looks like you need someone to look after you.”

Jared bristled at that. “I’ve been looking after myself just fine!”

Jensen’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure you have, forest-boy, but someone needs to bring you up to speed on the players involved so you don’t run at the wrong person and get yourself killed. Or worse.”

Jared narrowed his eyes, unable to tell if Jensen was being intentionally patronizing or was just naturally like that. And which of the two would be worse. 

“And,” Jensen added before Jared could snap back, “since you’ve been..” he waved his hand dismissively in such a French gesture Jared couldn’t help but smile, “living off the land or whatever, maybe you can help me forage for food. And I could help you out in towns.”

Jared felt his smile slip. “There’s… there’s really not much to forage. I’ve been eating grass.”

Jensen shrugged. “I’m French. We eat snails.” 

Jared was almost surprised at the chuckle that slipped out, rusty with disuse.


End file.
